


Tall harmless with extra cinnamon

by PeskiPixi



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Barista!Tom, Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, NSFW, Romance, Tom's hands, hybrid!Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeskiPixi/pseuds/PeskiPixi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catherine is a busy woman, she has no time for the deliciously sexy new barista with the beautiful hands. She thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tall harmless with extra cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> So… I’ve been meaning to do a Tom’s hands based fic for a while. And a hybrid!tom fic. And a barista fic. So here it is, all in one. It was supposed to be straight smut, but somewhere along the line it got all corny and romantic and mushy… Sigh… As usual, enjoy, and please leave kudos and comments! xxx

Catherine paused on the sidewalk, took a deep breath to gather herself for the onslaught that awaited her, and opened the door.  
Catherine came here at least three times a week, every Monday, Wednesday, and either Thursday or Friday, depending on her schedule. But whichever, she preferred to plan it and put it in her diary promptly. Everything goes in the diary, without fail. Catherine was busy, her career took up her whole life, and she had neither patience nor time for anyone or anything that interfered with that. And it annoyed her that she had to pause and breathe before going into her favourite coffee shop. And it was all because of him.  
The little silver bell tinkled her arrival to the patrons scattered around the shop as Catherine walked in. She smiled and nodded at the two wizened old men at the corner table. It seems that in winter, they were always there, drinking coffee, playing chess and gossiping unashamedly about friends and strangers alike. The shop smelled deliciously of freshly brewed coffee, sweet pastries and warmth. Inwardly, Catherine smiled. It was one of her favourite smells. This very particular smell, of this very particular shop, on a cold winter morning.  
Taking another deep breath and plastering a polite smile on her face, she looked up and headed for the order counter next to the gigantic espresso machine. It was vacant, but Catherine could see someone moving around behind the machine. Then, just when she thought it was safe, he popped a curly head around the corner and took his place at the counter. His eyes came up and caught hers, and a bright, wide grin spread across his face, like the sunrise from that scene in the Lion King. Catherine rolled her eyes internally, and tried to ignore the way her heartbeat sped up. Sun-shiney bastard.  
Don’t look at him. Or look at him as little as possible. That might minimize the damage. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t chat. Just order and be on your way. It’s not that hard. Don’t look at his eyes. Don’t look at his hair or his shoulders or those infernal buttons. And ESPECIALLY don’t look at his hands.  
Catherine’s internal monologue came to an end as she arrived at the counter. She didn’t lift her eyes to his, and instead they fell on the buttons of his shirt, straining across his chest. “Dammit” she swore under her breath. Well, there was nothing for it, she thought, and flicked her eyes up to those ridiculous cornflower-blue torturous eyes that danced with mirth. The moment she looked at him, the smile was back.  
“Good morning darling, what can I get you?” He enquired in his slightly gravelly baritone that was way too cultured for a coffee shop, one eyebrow raised slightly as he smiled down at her.  
“Can I have a tall harmless with extra cinnamon please?” Catherine got out, feeling quite proud of herself for getting it all out in one go without stumbling over her words.  
“Your usual,” he said and threw her a wink. “Coming right up.”  
Catherine stood half a step back and folded her arms tightly across her chest, purposefully staring at the variety of interesting wall hangings to her left, ignoring the flurry of practiced activity in front of her. But gradually, her eyes were drawn back to him. She had no control over it. To her, watching him work is like watching a sculptor creating a masterpiece, like watching an accomplished thespian portray your favourite character on stage. Yes, she knew it was only a cup of coffee, but the intensity with which he concentrated on what he was doing got her every time. And then there was the real reason she stared. It was his hands.  
Catherine pinched her eyes shut, trying to will the compunction away. But it was no use. Finally, she gave up the fight, and stared. Her sinfully attractive barista was busying himself with the machine. His long, elegant hands were wiping nozzles with a white cloth, and the he started her cup. She watched, mesmerized as he grabbed an espresso cup and inserted it, then pushed a series of buttons. She kept following his every move as his beautifully formed hands fluttered over the tools and ingredients of his trade. It wasn’t only the size and shape of his hands, but the way he touched things. It was as if he knew he had very large, strong hands, and compensated for it by having a light, almost stroking touch in everything he does.  
She was pulled out of her reverie when he clicked his tongue irritably, giving the cinnamon shaker a little wiggle. He disappeared for a few seconds and returned with a large jar. Gripping it, he strained a bit, biting his lips between his teeth, and then the lid gave, his competent hands opening it further and refilling the shaker. She was still staring when he glanced up from under his brow.  
“Sorry for keeping you. These things happen at the most inopportune moments.” He smiled, slightly embarrassed. And did she imagine it, or did his eyes dart almost imperceptibly down to her lips and chest and back up…? Catherine felt a slight flush start creeping up her neck, and turned away after she gave a curt nod, feigning interest in the comings and goings outside in the street.  
“Excuse me, Miss?” she heard a short while later, and turned around. The barista was standing behind the counter, arms folded across his chest, a smug boyish smile on his face, and a stray black curl falling across his forehead. “Your coffee. Tall harmless with extra cinnamon.” He indicated the cup standing in front of him, lifting his eyebrows.  
Catherine grabbed the coffee and squeaked out a thank you, turning and fleeing into the cold morning, her heart beating fast. Why did that infuriating man have such an effect on her? Deep in thought, Catherine walked the half block to her office. Taking her place behind her desk, she removed the lid of the hot cup of coffee, and her hand flew to her mouth.  
On top, crafted in foam and cinnamon was the most beautifully formed rose. The petals were fine and folded around each other in a way that made the image come alive. She sat and stared at the latte art for a full minute, almost unable to believe that something so pretty could be made out of foam and cinnamon. She was too sorry to actually drink it. Finally, she picked up the cup, but as she brought it to her lips, she spotted something on the side. In black marker and pretty terrible handwriting was written Tom, with a telephone number. Catherine very carefully put the cup down and then flopped back in her comfy executive office chair, staring at the ceiling.  
What?  
For years, Catherine has been going into that same coffee shop. And for the last few months she has been ogling the new barista, and his talented, beautiful hands. And for months, he has been unfailingly well-mannered, but nothing more. No glances, no vibes, and the minimum of polite conversation.  
Or was her sexual radar so off that she hadn’t noticed anything? Was she so busy, so driven, so repressed that she couldn’t spot when I handsome man was interested? She sat there, leaning back in her chair, tapping her fingernails against her front teeth. Maybe she was. Maybe it was time that she lived a little. Her career, her goals, have driven her to the brink of social ostracization. She had very few friends, and saw her family only on rare occasions. Never mind a boyfriend, or anything approximating the word. In a flurry of movement, she sat forward and grabbed her phone, starting to type the text before she could change her mind.  
C: Hi Tom. Nice to meet you. So what did you have in mind? Catherine.  
Catherine threw her phone on the desk and sat back again, jiggling her legs in nervous anticipation.  
*ping*  
T: Hi, Catherine, I am pleasantly surprised that you contacted me. Please forgive the presumption of writing my number on your cup. You are a beautiful, interesting woman and I would like to know you better.  
Catherine huffed, half in surprise and half in disbelief. The man was so eloquent and infuriatingly charming, even his texts read like literary essay. Spinning her phone in her fingers, she analysed, as was her habit. What did he want? Could she trust him? Did she have time and space in her life at this moment in her career to commit to “knowing someone better”?  
Her intercom pinged on the desk, making her jump. Pressing the button, with a curt yes, she listened to her assistant and friend rambling off her morning appointments. When she was done, Catherine said: “Angelique, could you come in here for a second?” Moments later her door opened and her friend waddled in.  
“Hey, I just got in, how has your morning been?” she asked, taking a chair in front of the desk, and lifting her feet onto the other, rubbing her hand unconsciously over her very large round stomach, wincing a little.  
“How’s Ben junior?” Catherine asked, smiling.  
“Fine. Lively. Eager to face the world. I swear I don’t think I could get any bigger… Catherine Tate what happened in your life today?” Angelique zoned in and suddenly she was watching Catherine like a hawk. She clearly could see that her boss and friend was not quite her normal business-as-usual self.  
“Tell.” The single word held such a tone of command that Catherine just rolled her eyes, wondered for a second who the real boss was, and started talking. As she finished by reading the text out loud, Angelique asked: “So how come I’ve never heard of this Tom guy? You’re obviously into him.”  
“What? No!” Catherine protested automatically, but her friend just raised an eyebrow and kept quiet.  
Catherine sighed. “Okay. Maybe I’ve been ogling him in the coffee shop. He is a very handsome guy. He’s very tall, a bit skinny, with curly black hair, the bluest eyes and this ridiculous smile that lights up a room. And his hands….”  
She flopped back in the chair, and Angelique snorted with laughter. “His hands?” Her voice sounded disbelieving. Catherine felt herself blush, but didn’t answer.  
“Cat, spill!”  
Her eyes opened. “Don’t call me that. No one calls me that. It’s Catherine.” Angelique just smirked and waited, knowing full well that she’d already won the fight.  
Sighing, Catherine tried to explain.  
“You know how a symphony sounds better when you are watching a full philharmonic live? How art is more amazing when you saw it being created?” She paused, looking for the right words. “Watching Tom work is almost like that. He has these very large competent hands, but his fingers are so elegant. The way he touches things makes what he does an art form. It’s not only about the coffee. I find myself needing to see him work, going there even when I wasn’t planning to. It’s maddening!” She paused again and looked down. “When I look at him, at his hands, I can almost see how he will touch a beautiful woman. With care and tenderness and exquisite attention to detail. I can very nearly feel his hands on my skin…”  
She looked up when she didn’t get a reply. Angelique was dramatically fanning herself. “Whoa girl! Phew, have a heart! I have been pregnant for seventeen years, and haven’t had sex for about a hundred. You’re getting me all bothered.” Dropping the act, she looked at her friend kindly.  
“Text him back. Make a date. Live. You clearly have the serious hots for this guy, girl, so please, for once in your life, take a chance. Screw your career. Well, rather screw him, but you know what I mean.”  
They both giggled, and Catherine picked up her phone and opened the text with a deep breath, clicking reply.  
C: Thank you Tom, that’s very kind. I would like to know you better too. Dinner?  
They sat waiting in silence, but the reply came back almost instantly.  
T: Great. On one condition though, I’m cooking. Friday night, your place or mine?  
Catherine read the text out to her friend, and looked at her, biting her lip. Answering the unspoken question, Angelique said: “DO IT! Yours. It’s safer. And I’ll check up on you.”  
She typed a text saying mine, followed by her address and sent it rapidly before she could change her mind. Then she looked at her friend with an unspoken question. “You’re doing the right thing. Stop over analysing!”  
~~~~~~~~~~  
It was 6:30pm on Friday night, and Catherine was contemplating whether she should throw up, take up smoking or knock back a large glass of strong liquor. Her stomach was in knots, her hands were sweaty and her cat stared at her from the couch with a particularly feline brand of disinterested curiosity. She’s been ready for at least half an hour, and spent the extra time worrying, and coming up with all kinds of scary, humiliating and unlikely scenarios of what could go wrong tonight. For the last three days, Catherine had stayed out of the shop, but they kept in contact via text. Tom was sweet and polite, but with a strong naughty undercurrent in their texts. She liked it.  
Just then, the doorbell rang, and Catherine almost jumped out of her skin. Checking herself in the mirror quickly, she went to open. Tom stood on her doorstep, a grocery bag in one arm. He was dressed in jeans, worn boots and a sky-blue button down, the exact colour of his eyes. His longish black hair was still damp and he smelled of freshly-showered male. Catherine inhaled, and an involuntary smile spread across her face. She was genuinely glad to see him, and her nervousness vanished.  
“Hello Catherine. You look absolutely lovely.” He stepped inside and leaned down, brushing his lips softly against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin. His hand came up and stroking the lightest of touches down her arm. An uncontrollable shiver went through her, and for a second she thought she saw a slight smirk on Tom’s face. She stood to one side, motioning towards the living room and kitchen.  
“Tom, please, come on in.”  
She followed him to the kitchen, where he put down the bag and started unpacking ingredients. Catherine watched him from the corner of her eye as she poured the wine. They chatted easily, about books and films, their families and some of the strange regulars at the coffee shop. Tom had Catherine in stitches with anecdotes of strange requests and even stranger names and messages on cups.  
As he worked, seeming completely at home in her kitchen, Catherine watched. He had a quiet confidence that shone through in his very movements. She watched fascinated as the blade of the knife rose and fell in his hands as he chopped vegetables, the way he gripped the spoon when he carefully brought it to her mouth, and the delicate way he sliced salad in perfectly proportioned pieces. As the evening wore on, their conversation, and their physical interaction became gradually more intimate. They touched, often, and as she suspected, wherever his hands made contact with her skin, her nerves tingled, and she was getting progressively frustrated.  
Having made a remark about how it seems impossible to slice onions that thin, Tom has decided to show her how to “properly slice onions”, in his words. Catherine was standing at the counter, the large kitchen knife gripped in her right hand. Tom moved in behind her, extending his arms around her and placing his hands on hers, covering them. Catherine stopped breathing. She could feel the heat of his body on her back, and she froze. The knife dropped from her fingers as his much larger hands enfolded hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as his head dropped to her neck.

“Catherine,” his voice rumbled, his breath ghosting on her ear, “Do you really want to slice onions?” He punctuated the question with a warm kiss just behind her ear, while his hands stroked over hers, and started moving up her arms. She wasn’t sure if her voice was going to function, but managed to give her head a small shake.  
“Good.” He said, and turned her around to look into her face. “Because I have been wanting to do this for a long time.” He lifted a hand and cupped it to her face, covering her entire cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair. The other did the same to the other side, so that he held her face in his hands like precious fine china, his eyes locked on hers, except for the almost imperceptible flick down to her lips. Sliding his fingers further into her hair, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers softly. Catherine felt like her skin was on fire, her body ached for his touch, her lips parted and eager for his kiss. After a small moment, he drew back and looked at her again. Then, he kissed her again, this time more urgently, his one hand sliding down her back and pulling her closer. His lips moulded to hers, and Catherine marvelled at how well they fit. His tongue invaded her mouth and she accepted eagerly, her heart thundering in her ears and her core already aching. Her arms slid around his neck, and she pulled him closer still, falling head over heels into the kiss like Alice down the rabbit hole. The only sound was their laboured breathing, and the whispering rustle of his hands alighting on her skin anywhere he could reach.  
Finally, they surfaced for air. Catherine’s heart was galloping, and curious, she placed her palm on his chest. She suppressed a secret smile as she felt his heart knocking hard against his ribs. Tom started speaking, cleared his throat and tried again: “Dinner…” With palpable regret, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned to the stove, surreptitiously adjusting himself with his back to her. They both made a conscious effort to act normal, but the atmosphere was heavy with need, and the conversation stilted. They settled down to eat, talking a bit more freely now, but Catherine couldn’t sit still, squirming in her chair and fiddling with her food. Tom seemed more at ease, but tortured her with scorching glances as he ate.  
When they were almost finished, some sauce got away from Catherine, landing at the corner of her mouth. Tom leaned over, and with studious tenderness caught the drop on his finger and held it to her lips. Catherine folded her lips around the digit and almost groaned out loud at the blatant eroticism of the act. Tom watched her intently, his lips slightly parted and his eyes glazed. When she finally released his finger from her mouth, Tom took his napkin, wiped his mouth and got up, holding his hand out to her without a word. She took the proffered hand and got up. Still keeping his silence, he led her down the hall and turned into the first door he saw, which turned out to be her bedroom.  
Once inside, he turned her into his arms with a flourish, took her face in his hands and kissed her. The kiss shot right to her core and Catherine gasped into his mouth. Her arms twined around his neck and she lost herself in the kiss, giving as good as she was getting, her tongue battling his and her fingers winding into the black silk of his hair, gripping and holding him to her. Tom’s lips left her mouth to travel down her neck, kissing and licking a little hot path down her carotid. Reaching her shoulder, he carried on to the thin strap of her dress, while his hand journeyed up her back. Pushing his fingers under the strap, he carefully lifted it a little and let it drop down her arm, his fingers ghosting down after it. He kissed her lightly on the mouth again, and then moved to her other shoulder, repeating the process.  
Catherine was lost. Her world was filled, overwhelmed, bursting with sensation. Tom’s lips were driving her crazy, planting hot wet kisses all over her neck and shoulders, often returning to ravage her mouth. His hands were even worse, stroking up and down her back, gliding over her bare skin, setting nerve-endings on fire. His scent invaded her senses, musky and fresh and so very male, it enveloped her. His hand slid up her side, his nimble fingers found her zipper, and ever so slowly, he pulled it down. Her dress fell down easily, pooling around her feet, leaving her standing in a black thong and balconette bra, and her strappy black sandals. Tom stood back half a step and his eyes slid down her body and back up. His gaze was intense, so much so that Catherine could almost physically feel his eyes caressing her every curve.  
“Catherine,” he breathed reverently, “You are absolutely stunning.” She felt a blush creep up her neck at his words. This time, she took his hand and led him to the bed, turning and crawling onto it when they got to it. Looking back over her shoulder, she suppressed a giggle at the almost comical expression on his face. He was staring at the picture of her on her hands and knees on the bed, looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t resist, and wiggled her butt at him with a cheeky smile. That was it. He pounced, tackling her and forcing a breathy squeak from her. He turned her onto her back, grabbing both her wrists in one large hand and holding them above her head while his other hand wriggled under her and unfastened her bra with ease. Then he grabbed her thong, shimmying it down her legs somewhat awkwardly with one hand. She lay naked before him, feeling wanton and sexy, and deliciously helpless as he held her still.  
Tom lay next to her, supporting himself on one elbow as he gazed at her. Stroking his hand up her body from her hip bone to her armpit, he followed it with his eyes, intense concentration evident on his face. Reaching the side of her breast, he danced his long elegant fingers across the curve of her breast, until they found her nipple, and tweaked it to a hard little peak. Catherine moaned and arched her back, wanting more. He was teasing her touching and fondling and caressing, taking his time, drawing her moans from her, making her breath speed up more and more. She had a passing thought that his hands were even more magical, more addictive than she had ever thought possible. Tom shifted until he was looming over her, his hands roaming down, down, until he found her mound, and he folded his large palm over her pubic bone. Catherine opened, letting him in, needing him to touch her, her core aching for him.  
Tilting his wrist, Tom slid his fingers into her folds, and he groaned when he found her absolutely dripping for him. Catherine was mewling with need, breathing his name like a prayer as his fingers slid into her hot hungry cunt.  
“Jesus darling, you are so slick, so hot. You’re going to come all over my hand, aren’t you my beautiful girl?”  
Catherine was so far gone that his words alone almost pushed her over the edge. He pumped his fingers into her, curling them slightly to the front, his thumb grazing her clit. She was helpless, needy, her eyes closed tightly and her hips bucking of the bed. Tom circled her clit with his thumb, and pushed into her again and again until with a ragged cry, she clamped down around his fingers, her muscles spasming and his name on her lips. It felt like it was never going to end, her pussy contracting and pulsing around his fingers as he watched her thrash helplessly.  
When she finally was able to open her eyes, she looked up and him, and in her post orgasmic bliss, he was beautiful.  
“Tom?” she said softly.  
“Hmm-mm?” he asked, removing his hand from her pussy, making her feel slightly bereft.  
“That was amazing. But will you please fuck me now?” He gave a low chuckle and got up from the bed. Catherine followed him with her eyes as he stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing taught skin sprinkled lightly with a few chest hairs. Shrugging it off, he toed off his boots and unfastened his belt. With a cheeky wink in her direction, he dropped his jeans, and his cock sprang free. She hissed out a breath at the sight of him, her mouth watering immediately. That was one glorious cock. Thick and hard and beautifully engorged. He grabbed himself in one hand and stroked casually as he stalked towards her.  
“So you want to be fucked?” he asked with one raised eyebrow. She nodded, too busy gazing at him to speak.  
“On your knees.” He said, and Catherine obeyed, scrambling into position. Tom got on the bed behind her, and he grabbed her ass, his long hands sliding over her buttocks, caressing and stroking, and finally coming back down. His fingers stroked down until he found her swollen wet pussy waiting for him. He lined up and Catherine gasped as she felt the large hard head of his dick at her opening. Wiggling his hips a little, he started sliding in, and they both groaned loudly.  
“Fuck, Cat, you are so tight, so wet.” He breathed with a shudder. He kept going until he was fully seated in her, and then stilled, giving her time to adjust to his size. Then, slowly, he withdrew, and sunk into her again. Catherine could feel every inch of him sliding into her, filling her up, and she moaned, pushing back, wanting more. Gradually, he picked up the pace, going faster, pumping into her, his breath coming audibly through his nose. Catherine bit her lip and looked at him over her shoulder. His large hands were gripping her hips, holding her still as he rammed into her. His eyes were closed and his jaw clenched, tendons standing out in his neck, his skin glistening with sweat as he pounded into her, filling her almost to the point of delicious pain. Suddenly, his eyes opened and he looked at her, profanity tumbling from his lips.  
He moved one hand, sliding it up her back with slight pressure, and Catherine collapsed her arms, resting her cheek on the pillow, the new angle letting him go even deeper, and she could feel another orgasm building, her legs starting to shake. Tom picked up the pace even more, going deep, hunching over and snaking a hand around to find her nub. He rubbed hard and mercilessly, and without warning, Catherine tumbled into the abyss, screaming out her bliss, her hands digging into the bed and her body trembling violently. Tom slammed into her faster, intoning her name over and over again as he sunk into her spasming tight pussy, and then stilled, pressed tightly and deeply into her his hips jerking erratically as he released deep inside her, spurting his hot essence into her with a long deep throated groan. He gave another few leisurely strokes, and finally, they toppled over, still connected, coming to rest in a tangled heap of sweaty sated limbs. A few minutes later, when they could move, Tom stretched out on his back and gathered Catherine in his arms, kissing the top of her head softly.  
“Tom?” Catherine mumbled into his chest. “Mmm?” He answered, sounding on the edge of sleep.  
“We should do that again.” She stated, feeling her eyes droop. Her body content and her mind hazy, she could feel herself drifting. Tom chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest under her ear.  
“I think that’s an excellent idea. Just give me a moment.” She could hear the smile in his voice as her eyes slid closed and she gave in to the pull of sleep, feeling relaxed and as home as she felt in a while.  
~~~~~~~~~~  
Catherine rushed into her office, threw her bag down on the chair and put the coffee container, lid still on, down on her desk. Just as she started up her laptop and took out her diary, she heard Angelique come in. Her friend breezed in the door and around the desk to give her a hug.  
“Good morning Catherine, how’s Tom?” she asked, her eyes glittering brightly. Catherine gave her a look.  
“He’s fine. Why?” She asked, suddenly suspicious. It’s been six months since they had gotten together, and they were ridiculously, blissfully happy, and screwing each other’s’ brains out at every opportunity. But Angelique knew this. Why the sudden interest?  
“No reason…” her friend said airily. Catherine shrugged and grabbed her coffee, taking off the lid. She still got her coffee from Tom, and he tried to surprise her with new art with every cup. She loved seeing what he came up with every time. On today’s cup, there was a simple heart and an arrow pointing to the one side of the cup. It puzzled her a bit, but she shrugged and took a long sip. As the cup tilted though, she saw something strange. Where the arrow pointed, there was something written on the inside of the cup. Drinking a bit more, the words were revealed. Catherine’s hand flew to her mouth as she read it.  
“Would you be mine?” It was so sweet, so corny and so romantic. How she loved this man. Putting the cup down, she looked up, and in the door stood Tom, hands in his pockets and looking slightly nervous.  
“O, Tom, that was so sweet, but a moot point, I am already yours.” He smiled and walked towards her. When he reached her, he took both her hands in his, turned her palms up and planted a kiss on each.  
“I know, my beautiful Cat. But that’s not exactly what I meant.” He said. Catherine gasped at what happened next and her eyes filled with tears. Standing back a step, Tom took something out of his pocket, and went down on one knee. He looked up at her, his blue eyes shining wetly, his brow drawn and earnest. Opening the little blue box in his hand, he spoke.  
“Catherine Elizabeth Tate. Please do me the honour of becoming my wife. Will you marry me?”  
Despite her best efforts, a sob escaped her lips. She couldn’t speak, but she knew that he would understand, because her heart was singing. She nodded vigorously through her tears, and he took out the ring and slipped it onto her finger. Catherine took his hands and pulled him up towards her, needing to feel him hold her. He enfolded her in his arms, holding her tightly as she whispered one word into his chest over and over again.  
“Yes…. Yes… yes…yes…”

~END~


End file.
